83, Work

“Every time you speak, an angel pukes in their mouth.”  Special agent Death gasped for air as she hid behind a dumpster in a seedy neighborhood in the industrial section of Mexico City.  Bullets narrowly missed her as they flew over her head and smacked the surrounding adobe walls.  She twisted her body to a place of safety and clicked the clip release on her military issued 9mm Beretta pistol.  As the empty clip popped out on her lap she added, “In fact, I think all the hosts of heaven hate you.”

Moments earlier demolitions expert Dale O’Connor had ducked down behind the dumpster, but when he turned to see Death running at him like a pro bowl linebacker, he did a twist tuck and roll on the alleyway gravel to get out of her way.  As he brushed off loose gravel from his shoulders, he sat upright and grinned.  “Puking angels that hate me.  That’s a new one.”

“I knew you’d like that,” Death said with a smile as she caught her breath.

“Since when do you defend the narcissistic egos of Mexican archaeologists?”  He pulled up his pant leg to reveal a holster that held several clips of hollow point bullets that fit Death’s gun perfectly.  Without asking, he pulled one out and tossed it to Death.

In one motion Death snatched it and snapped it in her gun as she poked her head around the dumpster.  In less than a second she’d raised her pistol and instinctively shot at their pursuers.  She yelled over the gunfire, “I don’t give a fuck about your buildings made of stone bullshit, asshole.”  She emptied the clip and the oncoming fire momentarily stopped.

“They’re called megaliths,” O’Connor said smugly.

“Fuck you,” Death said as she recoiled back to her position of safety.

“Fuck me?  Look, I’m only interested in data and the truth,” O’Connor said in a calm tone.  “How many’d jew get?” he asked as he pulled out another fully loaded clip.  He watched as she again ejected the newly emptied clip from her pistol into her lap.

“Four, but there are still half a dozen left.  It looks like they’re spreading out,” she said as she again caught the fresh clip that O’Connor had tossed to her.  In the same easy motion, she snapped the ammo into place.  “Those dummies shouldn’t be running around without cover.  They don’t know who they’re fucking with.”  Still breathing heavily, she popped around from her place of cover to shoot at her enemies.  Even though her hand gun wasn’t automatic, she pulled the trigger so quickly that it sounded as if it were a semi automatic.  Returning to cover, she said, “Make that six dead with four more left.  At least that’s what I can see.”

She repeated the process of ejecting an empty clip as O’Connor tossed her another new one.  His voice went from calm to passionate.  “All I’m saying is, we can’t be sure the Aztecs built any of those super structures.  A lot of really smart people have presented evidence that they were a culture of inheritance from a much more advanced civilization that built those temples and pyramids millennia before the Aztec language or culture ever existed.”  He looked up the alleyway and didn’t see anyone at the end of the gravel road.

“Let me be clear, Doc,” Death said as she popped her head around the corner.  In hypnotic fashion, she again emptied the clip at mind blowing speed, then returned to cover as she finished her sentiment.  “I don’t give a flying fuck about who built the Aztec night clubs or whore houses, or whatever it is that you’re going on about.”  She reached out to signal she needed another clip from O’Connor and added, “two more dead, two left.”

Another clip exchange happened in air as O’Connor chuckled.  “Aztec whore houses.  That’s a good name for a punk band.”  He watched Death pop around the corner and unload the clip, but instead of recoiling for safety, she didn’t move.  “Jew get the rest of ’em?” O’Connor asked curiously.

“Yup,” Death answered.  “Let’s get out of here.”  She scooped up the empty clips and pocketed them.  As the two agents got to their feet and took off down the alleyway she added, “And don’t you dare fucking say shit about mega stones or whatever.”

“Megaliths, Death.  They’re huge and heavy as fuck.”

“Fuck you.”

“I deserve that,” O’Connor conceded.  “Oh, and I don’t think angels puke when I speak because I don’t believe in them.  I’m an atheist.”

“But you believe in aliens?” Death said as she finally caught her breath.

“Yes, but they didn’t build the pyramids.  Again, that had to have been an advanced civilization that got wiped out during the younger dryas comet impacts that hit us over twelve thousand years ago.  The alien mother ship is way more ancient than that and it split into to massive pieces upon entering our atmosphere when it  crashed in present day New Mexico.”  O’Connor checked for his flask and located it in his chest pocket.

“New Mexico, got it,” Death said sarcastically in response.

“And the other half of the mother ship is buried underneath the town of Las Vegas.”  He twisted the cap off of his flask and took a sip of piss warm whiskey, then added, “Dirty Vegas, to be clear.  Not the strip.”

Death had heard enough.  “Fuck yourself, you drunk fuck.”

“Fair enough,” O’Connor said as he looked both ways before crossing a deserted Mexican road with his flask in hand.

Meanwhile on the other side of town, special agent Trent Murdock ducked as a thug from a Mexican biker gang swung an empty beer bottle at his head.  He threw an uppercut that connected with the thugs’ jaw and watched the large latino man come crashing down on top of two other unconscious thugs.  “Lights out, amigo!” he blurted loudly.

At the end of the bar, American special agent Alexi Blacktide was casually sipping on a margarita that tasted like shit.  “Lights out, amigo?  Come on, Murdock, what kind of one liner is that?  Jesus.”  Her mild disgust at her dumb friend as well as the putrid beverage was interrupted by the squeamish look on her face as she struggled to hold down a sip of the horrible concoction.

Murdock shrugged.  “Cut me some slack, for gods’ sake.  It’s not like I practice one liners.”  He thought about it, then said, “I should though.  Arnold movies have the best one liners and I always wanted to be Arnold growing up, you know?”  He looked at the three unconscious bikers all disheveled in a pile at his feet.  Quoting Kindergarten Cop, Murdock did his best Arnie impression.  “It’s not a toomah…”

Ignoring the comment about cheesy 80’s action movies starring Arnold Schwarzenegger, Blacktide’s face went from sour to laughing in no time.  “You do too practice one liners!   I’d be a rich woman if I had a nickel for every time I’ve heard you say that your morals play hide and seek when you drink tequila!”

“Says the girl who’s clearly not enjoying a Mexican made margarita in a perfectly seedy Mexican cantina,” Murdock said as he nodded towards her drink.  

“I don’t know how Doc does it,” Blacktide said referring to her boyfriend, fellow special agent Dale O’Connor.

“He’s a fucked up dude, but you’re learning that, I’m sure.”  Murdock cracked his neck from side to side and stretched his arms.  “Death and Doc should be calling us anytime now.  I wonder if they’ve had any fun or if they struck out.”  Murdock looked at Blacktide’s pained face and asked, “Are you actually gonna drink that?”

“Well I paid sixty pesos for this fucking thing and I’m not pissing that money down my leg, pal,” Blacktide said defiantly.  She took another sip and as she swallowed, her gag reflex kicked in.  She fought it back, not wanting to lose face by puking in front of Murdock.  “Sixty pesos for this shit!”

“That’s like, three bucks, Lex.  You know that, right?”

Alexi Blacktide did the math.  “Fuck, you’re right.”  She threw a ten peso bill on the counter and said to the bartender, “I’m not drinking this.  You can use it to degrease the floor if you want to.”  She got up to walk out and stepped over the unconscious bikers.  “Our work here is done anyway.  Let’s bounce.”

“You’re the boss,” Murdock said sarcastically.

“Don’t try to be like Doc, Murdock.  He says that shit to piss me off and it works.”

Murdock couldn’t help it.  “He likes you, Lex.  I’ve never seen the guy so happy.”  Alexi Blacktide found herself speechless at this information, so Murdock added, “Don’t fuck it up,” just to be a dick to her.

Years of relationship insecurity came pouring out of Blacktide as she answered, “I’ll fucking filet you with a paring knife and feed your carcass to wild pigs.”

“Nice one!”  With a grin and an approving nod, Murdock said, “I think you two are great together.”  He smiled even wider and added, “Two fucking psychos, killing bad guys by day and doing god knows what at night.”

“You already know what we do at night,” Blacktide said dryly.

“Yeah, the whole neighborhood knows what you do at night with how non-discreet you two are.”  Murdock exhaled as he added, “I haven’t seen him this happy since Harvey was alive, and I just don’t want to see the guy heart broken, that’s all.”

“Wait, what?  Who’s Harvey?” Blacktide asked.

Realizing he’d fucked up and spoke a name he shouldn’t have brought up, Murdock spoke honestly.  “It’s not my place to tell, it’s Doc’s.  Oh, and please don’t say that name around him or he’ll clam up and recoil from you.  He’ll recoil from all of us, for months or even a year or more.  All you need to know is it fucked him up.  Like, really fucked him up, bad, and the emotionally guarded fool we both know and love was because of that, so let sleeping dogs lie.  Pretty please.”

For the first time in their working friendship, Blacktide felt empathy for Murdock.  He clearly loved his best friend and she could see he hated that O’Connor had felt whatever pain in the past that he was talking about.  This new information had really caught her off guard.  “Sorry for saying that I’d cut you up and feed you to wild swine.”

“I’d expect nothing less from a professional cold hearted killer such as yourself.”

“I haven’t seen him for a week, Murdock.  I’m a little pent up.”  Blacktide took one last look back to see the carnage Murdock had just unleashed on three thugs from a Mexican biker gang.  “I shouldn’t be such a dick to you.”

“I don’t take your sexual frustration personally, friend,” Murdock said honestly.

The two agents stepped out of the biker cantina into the cool Mexican breeze.

An hour later, Blacktide and Murdock walked into a safe house where Death and O’Connor had already been hanging out.  O’Connor hopped up from the couch and set his flask down on an end table as Murdock said, “You fuckers had better have saved us some beers, god dammit.”

“Suck my balls, dick sniffer,” O’Connor joked as he walked right by his best friend without giving him a hug, hand shake or high five.  He walked up to his girlfriend and put his arms around her waist.  With whiskey on his breath, he moved in for a kiss.  Blacktide’s lips met his and their electricity was insane.

“Jesus, you two.  Get a room,” Murdock fake complained.

“Sounds good,” O’Connor said as he pulled his lips away from Blacktide’s.  He grabbed her hand and the two of them disappeared down a hallway.  The sound of the door slamming closed behind them was followed by the click of a door lock.

“Damn,” Murdock muttered.  “I was joking.”  He looked over at agent Death.  She had her headphones in and was staring at her phone.  She clearly knew that Murdock and Blacktide had arrived, but she didn’t get up to address that either of them were now back at the safe house.  Her complete focus towards her phone screen bugged Murdock, and he tried to get her attention.  “I hope your day was as action packed as ours was.”

Agent Death decided she wouldn’t ignore him because she wanted intel from how their day had gone.  “It’s such bullshit, right?” she said as she lifted her head from her phone while pulling out her ear buds.  “What, now all of a sudden the emperor can just lift his hands into the air and take out thousands of ships with his sith electricity bullshit?”

“Oh, snap!” Murdock said.  “Are you just watching the ninth episode now?”

Death seemed disgusted.  “It’s just fucking dumb, you know?”

“Here we go,” Murdock muttered to himself in mild annoyance at Death’s lack of keeping up with the times.

Always being years behind when it came to pop culture, Death went on a rant that Star Wars fans had been bitching about for years.  “Sci fi has a recipe, Murdock!  If your story line involves magic, that magic has rules!  If you violate those rules, you lose your audience, and I fucking give up on this horse shit!”  She slammed her open palm down on the kitchen table and reiterated what every true Star Wars fan had said for years.  “This is terrible fucking writing.  Terrible!”

“Join the club,” Murdock said with a grin.  “We found a bar with three bikers wearing their colors and I fucked them up in a brawl.  It was awesome.  Was your day as exciting as ours?”

Agent Death was still pissed off about her movie so she didn’t communicate well.  “We found some bikers and started some shit with them but they pulled guns on us so I killed ten of them in a street shootout.”  She looked down at the kitchen table and slammed it again with both open palms.  “For fucking real, you don’t violate the rules of magic for your story telling!  It’s such horse shit!”

“Wait, what?” Murdock said with confusion.  “You got into a Mexican street shootout?  For real, or are you just fucking with me?”

“Yes.  For real.  And there’s no way the emperor could just put his fingers in the air and shoot electricity into space…”

Murdock cut her off.  “Fuck off, lady!  Did Doc film it and send it to Miller?  Mexican street shoutouts are his wet dream!”

Death was still livid about the movie.  “Fuck Miller, and fuck Star Wars!  Let’s call Rice for a briefing and get drunk as fuck.  I’m ready to storm Lucas Films and burn everyone of those writers alive for their heresy.  Assholes!”

Although Murdock was blown away that she’d been in a shootout, he didn’t blame her for her genuine disgust at the movie.  He’d remembered feeling similar disgust himself, so he knew he’d hear the story when they gave their debriefing to their boss.

Five minutes later, general Rice’s stern face was on a large TV screen that was hooked up to a computer.  “Agents, report.”

Death couldn’t help it.  “Have you seen episode nine from the Star Wars saga, general?”

Rice lifted a cup of coffee to her lips and took a sip.  “Yes, Death, like ten years ago or whatever when it came out.”

“Did you like it?”

“No, it was complete bullshit, and if you’re gonna defend the terrible script writing then I’ll fire you on the spot.”  The general was serious.

“Thank you!  I just watched it this afternoon and I can’t tell you how murderous it makes me!”

Ever the impatient idiot, Murdock blurted, “I found three of El Padre’s bikers and knocked them out but Death got into a shootout and killed ten of them at the bar she and Doc went to!”

General Rice’s eyebrows went up.  “A shoot out?”

Murdock spoke for his friend.  “Yes!”

Rice closed her eyes and shook her head.  “Please tell me you killed them outside and not in a bar.”

Death finally spoke up to debrief her boss.  “Yes, ma’am, I killed them in the street.”

Rice paused and asked, “Did you or Doc film it to show Miller?  He loves Mexican street shoutouts.”

“No ma’am, it didn’t get filmed.”

Rice didn’t push on for any further details.  “Any word from our sources about El Padre?”

“Not yet, but between today and us fucking up his casino last week, he’s bound to take a misstep soon,” Death said.

Murdock asked, “Permission to go to more cantinas and start more shit with bikers wearing their colors?”

“Permission granted.  Oh, and if either of you are gonna get into another street shootout, call Miller.  I’m out.”  Rice lifted a cup of coffee to her lips as she pushed a button on a computer keyboard in front of her.  The tv went black.

A huge thud reverberated through the room as if an elephant were slamming against the house.  The tv rattled and fell off the wall, falling to the ground with a loud thump.  Both Murdock and Death instinctively dropped to a knee and looked at the doors and windows to see if someone was trying to break in, but then they heard Blacktide’s distinctive giggle through the walls.

“Fucking animals,” Murdock said of his friends O’Connor and Blacktide.  Their love making sessions usually involved broken infrastructure and personal injury to one or both of them.  Murdock wanted no part of hanging around.  “Let’s go find a cantina where more of those biker fucks hang out, whaddya say?” Murdock asked Death.

“I do not want to hear those two boning, and I’ll kill every member of the cartel tonight if I get the chance.  Let me grab more ammo and I’ll meet you outside.  I have a feeling, we’re gonna need it.”

In the distance, a bunch of El Padre’s biker gang drug peddling thugs were arguing vehemently about getting revenge on whomever was responsible for the death of their fellow members earlier in the day at a street shoutout, not realizing that two American secret agents were randomly headed their way, one of whom would fuck them up beyond all recognition as she let out pure rage with internal hatred she now harbored at Star Wars movie writers for their terrible script writing.